A Terrible Conversation
by Sniggyfrumps
Summary: When are confessions of undying love and devotion not ever extremely awkward and instantly followed by death threats? - A Gibotto one-shot?


**A/N: **I do not support Gibson/Otto. But I bloody well LOVE making Gibson squirm in mortified embarrassment.

**Warning: **A bit on the queer side (in dialogue only).

* * *

**A Terrible Conversation**

A squeak, not unlike that of a mouse caught under the paw of a fat alley cat with slow digestion, was heard.

Gibson looked to the doorway, not in the least surprised to see it occupied by his green comrade. What was peculiar, though, was the way Otto seemed extremely fixated on squashing one foot into the floor with the other.

The scientist wagered that the sooner Otto said what he wanted, the sooner Gibson could tell him to leave him alone and go bother somebody else for it.

Therefore: "What is it, Otto?"

Otto dragged himself, both oddly willing and very reluctantly, to a chair and used it for its proper sitting-down function. Then he turned to Gibson and looked at him, his black eyes alight with a deeply serious glint that comes with readying oneself for spilling a profound, long-kept secret of great importance, and possibly social ostracism.

What he said was: "Uh."

"I see," Gibson said dryly. "Would that be all?"

"I, uh, gots something to tell ya."

"Yes, I gathered."

"I, uh, like you."

"Well thank you, I consider our working relationship healthy as well," Gibson said impatiently.

"... no, Gibs – I mean I _liiiiiike_ you."

In his mind, Gibson went over the colloquial connotations as they could be implied by Otto's tone of voice, the mention of the ridiculous pet name, and the severe rushing of blood to the outer arteries of his teammate's cheeks.

The conclusion made Gibson clasp his flash-light pen until the plastic squeaked in anguish.

"Mark my word, if this is the result of _another_ lost bet with Sprx there will not be enough tissue left to conduct a proper autopsy—"

"Oh, no, it's not. Um, not _this_ time."

"I think I would rather prefer it be a prank," Gibson said; beginning to feel faint. "Didn't you fancy that Super Heroine... Aurora Six, I believe?"

"Yeah..." Otto said absent-mindedly; nodding off into devoted daydreams – and for an instant, Gibson thought himself safe – but then the green monkey shook himself awake.

"But! I don't think I like her the same way as I like _you_," he said and looked at Gibson with a horrendously dedicated expression that made the blue monkey want to scamper off and hide in safer environments - such as inside the hyper drive's particle core.

Neither monkey really knew how to deal with this sort of stuff - _romance_, that is. Otto very much ran on instinct – and those instincts rarely corresponded with the social norms of his peers. Gibson, in turn, favoured a sensible, logical approach over the hormone-induced, primal gurgling in the vast reaches of the far back of his head.

The two monkeys sat staring for an indeterminate amount of time that might have been ten minutes or it might as well have been four years; considering the sheer awkward tension that was practically present in the room as a third person, uncomfortably coughing and sidling along the walls toward the door.

Gibson was pondering the pros and cons of radiation sickness over dealing with unwanted romantic advances and found that sprouting an extra pair of limbs here and there might put off the mechanic's infatuation – but before he could make a run for the engine rooms, Otto piped up:

"So, uh, what now?"

Gibson's eyes widened to rival the diameter of family-sized pizzas. "_Me_? You're the one who is—is—_in love_," he finally managed to utter the last words with the grimaces and diction that might accompany projectile vomiting. "_You _do something."

"But you're the smart one - the doctor; aren't you supposed to know what to do?"

"If you dare suggest I 'examine' you I am going to have you carted off to Ranger 7 in seven separate boxes." Gibson vehemently tried _not_ to visualize the—the—_exchange_ _of bodily fluids_ and—and—_the rubbing together of their bodies_ but the brain is a traitorous organ and soon the ghastly imagery fried his vocabulary and left the generally garrulous scientist able to only utter an array of horrified guttural sounds.

Otto watched his blue comrade choke on his own adulterous imagination for a few moments before he with a nervous smile asked: "Is—uh, is this really that horrible an idea to you? Um, falling in love?"

There was a loud _snap_ as the pen cracked in half in the scientist's hands.

"_Yes,_" Gibson hissed. "Kindly fall your way _out_ of it again."

Otto sighed and smiled playfully at the door. "I _told_ Sprx that you'd react this way. Oh well, with the money he gave me I could getcha a new flashlight pen – that one there seems to have broken for some reason."

Then the green monkey patted Gibson's inanimate hand before scampering to the door.

Gibson sat oh so very still.

The remains of the pen fell to the floor, unnoticed by the scientist who in his mind was judging whether or not to turn evil and carpet bomb the entire Universe out of spite or just settle for repeatedly washing his hands meticulously with thermite.

Maybe he could be regain some of his composure by teaching Sprx and Otto a lesson via small controlled fires throughout their private quarters.

Maybe these sorts of episodes were why Mandarin had gone insane in the first place.

In either case, Gibson was rapidly running out of ballpoint pens.

-o-

Outside the doorway, Sprx was squirming on the floor - performing a most strange technique as he repeatedly whacked his head against the wall and tried to swallow his hand in order to avoid screaming out loud in uncontrollable roars of laughter.

"Oh my monkey-doodlin' Shuggazoom that was absolutely freakin' _amazing_!" he wheezed; woozy from the self-inflicted headaches and the possible asphyxiation from intense mirth. "I _cannot_ believe you did that!"

"It's not a bet if ya pay me beforehand, right?" Otto asked; more concerned with the possibility of having lied to Gibson than the fact that right now the blue monkey might be plotting his immediate homicide by food poisoning.

"Oh, who the doodle cares; he'll throw a fit no matter how we set it up – speaking of: I'll give you my dessert for the rest of the week if you 'accidentally' fall on him during combat training?" Sprx grinned.

"You're on!"


End file.
